


Baby, We'll Be Fine

by Imonagoodmixture



Category: petetrick - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Petetrick - Freeform, crappy angst fic, like really crappy, petetrick angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imonagoodmixture/pseuds/Imonagoodmixture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn't accept "if." If he accepted "if" he would be accepting that Patrick might never wake up.</p><p>Pete couldn't accept that. He couldn't accept "if."</p><p> </p><p>*Obviously an AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaiming here: This fic did not happen. It's not real. It's totally fake and fiction. I don't own those in it.

Pete wiped the foggy glass of the bathroom mirror with his palm. He stared at his shirtless, half-dressed body with hazel eyes that were weighed down by dark purple bags. He had stood in the shower, crying on and off for what he was sure was at least forty-five minutes.

"I'm going to be fine." He had lost count of how many times he'd told himself that in past week and a half. The number was different for both how many times he had said it out loud and how many times he had thought it to himself.

This was the eleventh day Patrick had been in a coma. He'd been hit by a drunk.

Pete had only been home for half of the eleven days Patrick had been unconscious. Everyone they knew had finally convinced him to go home and get proper sleep, that he would be called by hospital staff if Patrick's condition changed and the second he woke up if he woke up.

If.

That "if" was going to destroy Pete.

He couldn't accept "if." If he accepted "if" he would be accepting that Patrick might never wake up, that he might be taken off life support; that he might not be around anymore.  
Pete couldn't accept that. He couldn't accept "if."

He had lost so much sleep over it. He had had another sleepless night. He steeled himself not to start crying again over the sink.

He had gotten up off of the couch around thirty minutes ago. It was still dark out. The clock in the bedroom had read five something in the morning when he had went to take a shower because he couldn't stand lying there on the sofa not sleeping but not really doing anything but staring at the ceiling or the cushions or pretending to be looking at something on his phone.

He had moved to the sofa because he couldn't handle being in the bed anymore with Patrick's empty side that still smelled like him. It had barely been over a week and Pete hadn't washed the sheets and pillowcases. He couldn't. What if Patrick never came home?

There was that "if" again. It had forced him out of their bedroom. He had paced around the house in the dark until he had settled on the living room sofa as his final destination for waiting out the night.

Pete made himself focus on grabbing his shirt from the counter and pulling it on. It wasn't going to be a numb day clearly. He had been cycling between numb and crying days this past week. Both were equally bad. Every time he had a numb day he figured that maybe he wouldn't be able to cry anymore over this. It didn't mean he felt any less destroyed but maybe there would be no more tears for him.

He hadn't had time for either numb or crying days while he had been sitting by Patrick's bedside in the ICU of the hospital, hardly ever taking his eyes off of all the tubes connected to Patrick's bruised, torn up body. He knew there were burns under the gown Patrick was lying in. Pete had been happy Patrick hadn't been conscious while they were being cleaned out.

Seeing the sweater on the counter that he had put out for himself for when he got out of the shower broke Pete again. It was Patrick's. He wasn't sure why he put it out for himself. In what world would wearing it possibly give him any comfort? Some sick part of Pete was trying to torture him.

Next thing he knew he was on the tile floor of the bathroom, the garment clenched in his fists, sobbing his eyes out.

What if Patrick died and Pete had to prepare for a funeral and go through all of Patrick's clothes and other belongings? If every garment and thing would be like this sweater and cause him to feel like he was cracking his ribs from crying, he didn't think he would survive.

He didn't know how he would survive if Patrick died anyway. Patrick was practically one half of Pete now.

Pete felt guilty for crying to begin with which made his current state even worse. He wasn't the one who had been hit by a drunk driver. He wasn't the one in a coma. He wasn't the one who possibly might not wake up again. He also knew that Patrick wouldn't want him like this. That caused him the strongest feelings of guilt. Patrick would want him to keep going with his life.

And Pete would keep going with his life. Even if Patrick died. It probably annoyed him more than it should have that several people that had been skirting around the topic of whether he might do something stupid with him, implying but not actually saying what they were getting at. 

Pete wasn't going down that road. Ever. Even if losing a partner was something that could drive anyone to do something completely unthinkable.  
He tried to pull himself together long enough to get off the floor.

 

 

Pete was back in Patrick's room at the hospital that weekend. His body had been moved to another room, stable enough to be out of the ICU.

He had stayed away as long as he could possibly stand it but now that he was there he wasn't sure which was worse: being there or not being there.

The entire week had been the same routine of being numb or in tears and not eating enough and barely sleeping, anxiously waiting for hope that there would be a change with Patrick. But there had been nothing.

Working on some stuff he had to settle for his label over the course of that week had helped him not think about Patrick's unchanged condition but it hadn't helped him. There was a difference. Nothing would help Pete.

He wasn't even sure if he wanted something to help. He of course didn't want to be miserable forever but he was afraid that he would possibly eventually be accepting of Patrick dying and that he wouldn't feel anything at all over it anymore.

He just sat there that Saturday night, watching Patrick's still, unconscious form.

After a couple of hours of it he got a call from Brendon who told him he sounded like shit when he answered his phone.

"I feel like shit."

"Yeah... I know. I didn't mean it like... you know... How are you holding up?"

"I'm in the hospital again-"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Brendon. What if this had happened to Ryan?"

"Shit... I would go insane."

"You know how I feel then. Actually, fuck that. You don't. But you have an idea."

"Yeah, I know Pete. I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you."

"Everyone's worried about me."

"You're torturing yourself, man."

"Brendon, I need to be here."

"...I know. Just try and get some sleep, okay? And eat something. Starving yourself and not sleeping isn't helping you."

Pete told Brendon what he knew was most likely going to be a lie and said that he would and then hung up.


	2. Part Two

"I really don't know Brendon. I've got to work and I've got meetings all week. Work is the only thing keeping my mind off of it-"

Pete had gotten the same offers several times in the past two weeks. Brendon's offer of letting him bunk up with him and Ryan for a few days was no different from the ones he had gotten from various other close friends and members of his family. He was such a mess and he knew it. Everyone was feeling bad for him and Pete felt bad enough without that. He didn't think he could deal with being a mess in front of his friends or family and putting that on them.

"Ryan and I aren't stopping you from working. We don't care what you do when you're here. You don't even have to talk to us. Fuckin' sleep the whole time, eat all the food in the house, we don't care. Just... stay with us. Get out of the hospital and your house for a while. At least for a couple days. Then we won't bother you anymore."

Silence. And then gently from Brendon, "You know he wouldn't want you just sitting around your house or at his bedside. It's clearly hurting you."

"I fucking know that! But what the hell am I supposed to do Brendon?!" Pete demanded, voice thick, his throat starting to burn. "Fuck..." 

Pete was really sick of crying at the drop of a hat. 

Another stretch of silence where Brendon could clearly hear Pete trying to keep tears back passed.

"I guess I could go take up the bottle. It would get me out of the house and keep me away from the hospital." Pete joked morbidly.

"That's not funny man." Brendon wasn't laughing.

Neither was Pete. "Tell me about it."

More silence.

"Fuck..." Pete was really about to lose it now. He took a slow breath in. "I can't talk anymore. I can't. I'm gonna go."

"Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"Think about it."

 

 

 

"Are you sure you want to sleep on the couch?"

"The couch is fine." Pete told Brendon, worn thin. It took him three days but he eventually showed up on Brendon and Ryan's doorstep. He had to get away from his house. He didn't like thinking about how he had to get away from Patrick. "I've been sleeping on the couch at my house. Better than being in a bed with one side empty."

Brendon hesitated for a moment. "Alright. Goodnight."

"Yep."

 

 

Brendon shut the door to he and Ryan's bedroom a couple minutes later.

"He is just... God..."

"I saw him too Bren. When he got here earlier." Ryan said quietly from their bed. "I know."

"I wish I could do something." Brendon said tiredly, stripping down to his underwear. "He's a fucking skeleton. He's lost so much weight in two weeks. All he's been doing every time we talk is crying. I feel so bad for him. Fuck, I would be the same way if I was him but I wish I could do something."

"Fuck, I know I can't but I wish I could." He went to his side of the bed and sat down, arms crossed around his middle.

"Hey. I know." Ryan moved over to him, putting his arms around Brendon and his head on Brendon's shoulder.

"I love you. You know that right?" After a moment of hugging Brendon from behind, Ryan said the only thing he could think of to say.

Brendon kissed one of Ryan's hands. "I know. Iove you too. Thanks. I'm gonna turn out the light okay?"

Ryan unwrapped himself from Brendon and lay down. He re-wrapped himself comfortingly around Brendon when Brendon lay flat on his back in the dark.

Brendon closed an arm tightly around Ryan, shutting his eyes to begin searching for sleep.

 

 

 

The next day Ryan let Brendon sleep in when he woke up early and dressed quietly. He walked out of their bedroom to find something to eat but stopped short of the kitchen. Pete was sitting up on the couch in the early morning sun, staring blankly at the wall. He looked even more wrecked than before and it scared Ryan that it could even be possible for Pete to look more wrecked.

Ryan sat cautiously in the chair next to the sofa. He didn't ask "Did you get any sleep at all?" for a few moments.

"Maybe a three or four hours. Do you have any coffee? I've got a settlement meeting for a couple DCD2 bands in a couple hours."

"Actually I'm tempted to ask you if you have anything stronger than coffee." Pete added a minute later right before Ryan disappeared into the kitchen.

"I have coffee." Ryan said, not turning around. "Black?"

"Yeah."

Soon the room smelled like coffee beans and Ryan was handing Pete a mug before sitting down again.

Pete shut his eyes for a long time, holding the hot mug in his hands before taking a drink.

"I dreamed about him last night." He told Ryan after he swallowed. It seemed to take all of his effort to get the words out. "Things were good. He was kissing me. And then I woke up. Couldn't sleep after that."

Pete shut his eyes again, this time in an effort to compose himself. When he opened them he sat the mug on the table, feeling no less broken and no more put together than he had a second prior. He leaned forward, his fingers at his temples. "I wish things were better. I've been telling myself I'll be fine. That Patrick will be fine... But, shit..." His voice cracked. "I don't know how to do this anymore..."

"Hey. Pete. I'm not gonna sit here and lie to you and tell you that Patrick will definitely wake up. But I really hope he does. I really do. And honestly, Patrick wouldn’t you to keep doing this either. He loves you. He would… He would be here stopping you from feeling like this if he could."

“Yeah.” Pete said absently. “I think I’m gonna take a shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect a part three. There will be a part three.


	3. Part Three

Wake up. Come on, wake up.

This had to be a dream. Patrick could not die on him.

Yet there he was, eyes closed, motionless, his heart slowing right in front of Pete, the pace of the beeping on the monitor next to the bed and iv drip decreasing with each passing second and confirming it.

Wake up Pete. Fucking wake up.

This was a dream right? Pete was sure this was a really bad dream. He had fallen asleep, or rather passed out from exhaustion when he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, at Brendon and Ryan’s. He had been at their place for three days. He had come to try to escape everything, not that he had succeeded or anything, and Pete had chosen Brendon and Ryan’s house so he wouldn’t be putting his awful state on his family because he couldn’t do that to them.

He was still asleep at Brendon’s. He had to be.

Patrick was not dying. Pete tried desperately hard to convince himself to wake up.

He didn’t.

Patrick flat lined.

 

 

“Pete. Pete. You’re dreaming.”

Was he though?

“Pete. Come on man. Wake up.”

He was. He was conscious now. He was conscious and seeing Brendon’s sofa cushions and hearing himself crying. That proved that he had been unconscious before and that he had in fact, been dreaming.

He felt Brendon’s hand on his shoulder, jostling him. The bright afternoon sun was shining on him but Pete didn’t really feel it. He didn’t turn away from the pillow-y, beige back of Brendon’s sofa. He couldn’t get a hold of himself.

“Shit… I’m sorry man.” Brendon apologized, the regret heard loudly in his voice. “I wouldn’t have woke you up. You need the sleep but fuck, Pete you were fucking crying in your sleep when I came in here.”

“Don’t you fucking know it’s bad luck to interrupt a dream?! Oh my God Brendon, he’s going to die isn’t he?!” Pete’s entire back was shaking with his crying.

“Dude. Come on. Sit up.” Brendon helped Pete into a sitting position. Brendon put his arms around him like he would for Ryan when Ryan got upset. “It was a nightmare. It wasn’t real-“

“He’s going to fucking die! It’s fucking bad luck to interrupt a dream!” Pete was really starting to feel and sound hysterical. Logically, he felt so stupid for acting the way he was acting and he knew that bad luck coming from interrupting a dream was just a dumb superstition but he didn’t need any bad luck of any kind right now. He couldn’t lose Patrick but fuck, he already was. “I am losing my mind and he’s going to fucking die, isn’t he Brendon?!”

“…I don’t know…” Brendon hated answering truthfully but he did. He wished so much that he for sure had the answer Pete wanted, that they both wanted. “But I fucking promise you Patrick isn’t going to die because of you having a nightmare.”

Pete didn’t respond, aside from sobbing more.

“Pete. It’s not fucking happening. I promise you.” Brendon hugged his friend tighter.

“Brendon, why him?! He's the nicest fucking person in the entire fuckin’ universe! Why him?! Why not me?! What the hell am I gonna do if he does fucking die?! He’s my best fucking friend! I can’t- I can’t-” Pete choked and coughed.

Brendon shushed him soothingly. He was trying his best but it wasn’t enough. “Hey. Hey. You don’t need to think about that right now. You don’t need to worry about that unless it happens. Just try to calm down. And then I’ll get you some water or something.”

 

 

 

Pete got the call he was waiting for two days later when he was seriously considering going to a liquor store in broad daylight which, in all honesty, he did kind of hate himself for. 

Drinking was not going to fix this and he should have been stronger. He should have been continuing to deal with this sober. But a little bit of drinking wouldn’t hurt him, not more than he already was. It wasn’t like he was going to drink himself out of the picture or anything. Just enough not to feel what he had been feeling for a month.

He had almost got up to slip out of Brendon’s house before Brendon or Ryan could notice him leaving, not letting himself think about what he knew Patrick’s opinion would have been about it, when the hospital called and told him that Patrick had opened his eyes and was responsive, that Patrick had asked for him.

Pete didn’t have any reaction for the first five minutes after he had hung up but then Pete struggled to keep himself from losing it for a completely different reason than the one he had been fighting for a little over for weeks straight. He fought to keep himself upright and even had a close run in with falling in Brendon’s pool as he barreled his way to Brendon’s studio.

“Are you… okay?” Brendon asked when he turned around in his chair and saw it was Pete who had interrupted him and took in Pete’s appearance. 

Pete appeared kind of entirely unhinged. He was white in the face and his hazel eyes were the size of saucers. His frame was trembling as he stabled himself on the door frame of the studio edition. The fact that Pete hadn’t really changed clothes over the past couple days because he didn’t exactly have anything to do except answer work emails and have his brain force him into anxiety attacks and the like didn’t help.

“Pete? Seriously. Are you okay? …You’re scaring me…”

It was almost as if Pete had forgotten how to speak but he forced his mouth to cooperate and get the words out. “…He’s alive, Brendon…”

“He’s awake?” Brendon was afraid as he questioned Pete even though Pete had just told him that Patrick was awake.

Pete’s trembling grew worse. “…He’s awake!”

Brendon jumped up even though he wasn’t exactly on steady limbs either and he crossed to where Pete was and made him sit down in the chair he had by the drums before he collapsed and injured himself.

Tears spilled from the corners of Pete’s eyes, his body taking over and making him cry. “He’s fucking awake! He’s fucking awake!” He kept repeating. “He’s fucking awake!”

Brendon hugged him hard. He found himself crying too in a mix of almost unbearable happiness over the fact that his friend was out of a coma and happiness for Pete.

“I have to go Brendon. I have to go to him.” Pete still wasn’t finished sobbing or so his body was telling him. “Let me up. I have to go.”

“Pete I’m not letting you drive like this.” Brendon started laughing through his own tears, not releasing his embrace. “You’ll get yourself in an accident. Give me a few minutes and I’ll get Ryan and we’ll get you out there.”

“Oh my God,” Pete seemed to see himself for the first time in a month over Brendon’s shoulder in the monitor on Brendon’s wall and began laughing through his crying just like Brendon was currently, “at least let me change my shirt! Or something! I am a mess!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a part four coming to wrap this up.


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final Part.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital, Patrick. Do you know who I am?”

Pete hoped Patrick knew who he was. He had been told Patrick had been aware for the most part of where he was and how he got there when he had woke up a couple of hours before so he hoped this was just normal confusion from a weak memory that coma patients had for a few weeks after they first woke up. He didn't know what he would do if Patrick actually didn't remember who he was.

“That’s right. Car accident.” Patrick nodded at Pete who was sitting next to his bedside, where he had been there for the last two hours with his nerves on edge waiting for Patrick to wake up again. “Man, that was fucked up, wasn't it? And yes, I know who you are Pete.” He told him, the puzzled expression disappearing.

Pete almost laughed at Patrick's "that was fucked up" comment before he felt his throat closing up. 

He was not going to cry again.

"Pete."

Pete was not going to cry. He tried will it away.

Patrick was reading how close he was to it on his face, though. "Pete." He stuck one arm out slowly. "Give me your hand."

"God... Sorry. I've just been scared you're going to die for the past two months."

"Hey. Nobody's dying. Give me your hand. I would do more for you if I could but..."

Pete made himself move and do what Patrick asked.

"Come on Pete. I'm not dying. Who the hell would fight with you about every song we write if I weren't around to?" 

"I guess that's true. I didn't think of that."

"It is true. It wouldn't be an album if you didn't annoy me so much that I storm out of recording."

"And everyone thinks that's my thing."

"Are you kidding? It is your thing. You sometimes get so pissed that you won't talk to me for a couple days."

"Well, if you would listen to me."

"Yeah." Patrick scoffed. "This coming from you."

Pete blinked again. "Fuck... Sorry. God, I'm happy you're alive."

"I know. Pete. Seriously," Patrick said gently, "I'm not dying."

"I know. I know. Fuck." Pete kept blinking. Then he realized it was hopeless.

"Damn it." He sort of bowed his head and covered his eyes with his free hand. "You'd think I wouldn't be able to do this anymore." He made a sound that was a cross between an inhale and a sniffle. "I've been a fucking wreck for two months."

"I know."

"You don't know." Pete choked, trying to breathe calmly.

"I do know. You're wearing your glasses. You never wear them."

Pete swallowed and after a long moment, looked up. "Was that supposed to be a joke?"

"Yeah. It was. Pete, come on. You're breaking my heart here."

Patrick, somehow, made his body cooperate and sat completely upright. 

"Babe. Don't-" Pete started. Patrick was clearly struggling with himself.

"Shut up." Patrick cut him off. "Come here."

"Pete. Seriously. Come here."

Pete moved from the chair to the very edge of the bed as not to crowd his boyfriend out.

"Pete, you're gonna have to get closer to me than that. I'm exhausted."

Pete moved again. He was slightly closer and at least within Patrick's reach.

"Come here. You're so... I don't know what you are sometimes..." Patrick wrapped his arms around Pete.  
Pete did the same with Patrick, his head resting against Patrick's shoulder.

He felt Patrick's hand pressing into his ribs. "You're skinny. You haven't been eating again, have you?"

"I've been sick all the time worrying about you, Trick."

"Well do me a favor and go eat something."

"Are you kidding me? I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Pete. I promise you I'll still be here after the time it’ll take you to go eat something at one of the places next door to here."

Pete didn't move. "Patrick. Really. Eating is the last thing on my mind right now."

"You're fucking stubborn. At least you can eat real food. I can't even imagine the garbage they're gonna make me eat before they let me out of here."

Patrick felt Pete smirk against him. "Don't worry. I'll get you contraband." 

"I'm not even hungry at all. Still feel kind of sick."

"And you're telling me to go eat something?"

"Pete. You've lost a shit ton of weight. So yeah, I'm telling you to go and eat something."

"I will. I will. Just not right now. Please. Just let me stay here."

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the same song by The National. Fic was heavily inspired by it. This fic is gonna have a part two. I hope the first part wasn't completely shit.


End file.
